Painting Confusion
by Flying Pyro of Doom
Summary: "Little Canada" had finally reached the breaking point. He was tired of everything, confused, and had officially let go.  Warning:Blood and coloring with it and morbid themes.more than likely RusCan
1. One

Canada looked down at his hands, and watched with childish fascination as the blood ran down his fingers and left a trail of glistening red leading down his wrist. It was a beautiful, deep red, and certainly one he could learn to appreciate. The droplets stopped just short of his elbow, and he looked again at the source of the fluids. The mangled body in front of him showed no signs of motion, just the steadily growing puddle of blood. Canada dipped the tip of a single finger into the small circle of cooling fluids, and started drawing simple patterns on the snow. In not such a long time, the puddle had grown to be nearly a lake and a complete semicircle of scribbles and swirls surrounded the executioner, not unlike those painted on an Easter egg. The bloody marks served as a sort of wall, holding the reality of the situation back, and giving the boy a chance to become accustomed to the cooling life of another on his hands.

By the time he was found, the blood had gone cold.

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><p>This will be multiple short pieces, about this size, posted over a couple of days. This part is the best, honestly. I was venting, and it was born. I'll probably put a second one up later today ,and then updates sometime in the next few days.<p>

~Ali.


	2. Two

Heavy footsteps were not enough to break the spell of the nearly completed circle. Canada couldn't comprehend the cumbersome clunking, and just went on, now frantically adding to the designs. There was only a small strip of pure white left. It waited for him, straight ahead, the body hidden behind his back. Fresh dye on his finger, he was ready to close off the path before him. Only one thing brought a pause, a crouched figure waited at the path's end. He hadn't seen the man approach, and yet here he was, waiting. Canada's first response was to flee, but the circle, the only thing that kept others out, also held him in place. He had no choice. His whirling mind knew that it knew the man, but no name could come to mind. They'd met at the world meetings, exchanged words here and there. Nothing major, nothing major at all. Just simple words. The man represented Russia, that much he could remember. It was something simple. Ian, Ryan, Calvin, maybe?

The man said a single word, and that was enough.

"Splendid."

Ivan. His name was Ivan.

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><p>Yes, the use of both country and people names was intentional. Forgive me for using both?<p>

~Ali.


	3. Three

The tone of his voice wasn't angry, but curious. His stance showed no threat, but openness.

"Little Canada, you've been hard at work here, haven't you?"

For the first time Canada could remember, he held eye contact as Ivan stood, and watched with fascination as he took slow, careful steps around his barrier. Directly behind the deceased, he stopped.

"You're very good at speaking with your eyes, you know. I'm sure you've been thinking about doing the same to me since I arrived, yes?"

He was right.

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><p>I don't like the standard way of writing Russia in this fandom, exactly how he speaks in the anime. I did my own thing here.<p>

~Ali.


	4. Four

He crouched behind the remains, a very small, but oddly genuine, smile residing on his lips. He took a limp arm, and inspected it with a sort of care that should only be used with newborns. Ivan let the limb fall back into place after a moment, and returned the sharp look he'd been receiving since his arrival.

"I'd always thought it would be your brother I found like this, you know."

That hadn't been the right thing to say, not at all, and Canada knew that he knew that.

The smile grew.

"Well isn't that a pretty little scowl?"

Canada wanted to stand, to lunge at him with the same force that had knocked over the Victim, but his time in the snow had left his legs numb and unwilling to cooperate. All he could do was sit and watch as Ivan circled back around, and took his spot at the end of the path, blocking the only exit.

Each waited for the other to move or speak, to do something, anything. Neither did.

* * *

><p>I actually really like this part.<p>

also, this is it for tonight. I'll be updating as I write each part from now on.

~Ali.


	5. Five

Time passed. Not much time, but enough to let Canada grow accustomed to the man, now seated, at the end of the walkway. He'd watched Canada watch him, a look of complete amusement stayed on his face the entire time. It bothered him, to be watched with such intent as he did absolutely nothing, but Ivan didn't seem to have any problem with what he'd found, so it was fine.

"Why?"

It was a simple question, but one with no answer. Ivan nodded; a look of understanding took the place of amusement for only a second.

That look was worrying. No one should understand the silence of "I hurt him just because". Why he understood would probably, hopefully, never be known.

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><p>Honest reviews make me smile.<p>

~Ali.


	6. Six

"This has been going on long enough, yes?"

Canada tensed at the words. They sounded like betrayal, being left in the snow, and the possibility of committing his second atrocity. As Ivan stood, he watched with worry. He had no desire to injure the man, none at all. As time continued to pass, his senses returned, little by little. Unless the man suddenly charged, showing his true colors, weapon in hand, he found that he'd rather let the man live.

Let him live.

Hehe,What strong words.

* * *

><p>I had a seriously long day today, and so one really short chapter and a slightly longer one on it's way in about five minutes.<p>

~Ali.


	7. Seven

He was standing now, the man before him. Though there was still no visible hatred in his posture, one could never be too careful. Canada was ready, weapon in one hand, clenched tightly.

"Now then, do you have a name?"

It was an odd question; of course he had a name. He was Canada. It was simple enough to remember, though no one ever did. He opened his mouth to speak, but only the first sound could pass his lips before he was promptly cut off.

"No, no, no, not that. Name, little one, name. Not title."

He'd taken short, quick steps and arrived in the middle of the little white path before crouching back down, meeting his eye level. The blood on either side of Ivan didn't seem to bother him in the least; instead he focused on the only slightly smaller figure slumped in front of him. The thoughts were flying again, trying to find the answer.

His name?

It was the first time in years someone had actually asked for his name.

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><p>Poor Matthew, such a screwed up little boy.<p>

~Ali.


	8. Eight

"I'm Matthew Williams, I think."

"You think? You are not sure?"

Well, he'd always been Canada. How could he ever be sure that he was Matthew, a person made of feelings and flesh, when he'd always just been that cold place connected to America? After such a long time, he'd nearly started to confuse the two.

His shoulders sagged, and for just a moment, he felt just like he'd always used to. He'd gone back to the silence, the cold, and the inability to be heard. In that instant, something new took its place. It came when he looked around, saw all that he had done, and felt the chilled blood on his hands. It didn't have a name, or not one that he knew. It was invigorating, like stepping out of the comfortable warmth of your home into the cold just before sunrise.

"No...I'm Matthew."

"You are sure?"

"Yes."

Ivan smiled that strangely true smile again, and stood. There was snow, tinted a dark pink, stuck to the side of one of his boots, but he didn't seem to care. Just as Matthew had found something new inside himself, it seems that Ivan had done the same. He no longer looked at him as though he was a sad little stray puppy. Now, it seems, Matthew had been deemed a person of interest. Whether that was a blessing or a curse, only time could tell.

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><p>Usually I respond to my reviewers through PM, but one deary had PM's disabled, so Here's my answer.<p>

To Night13: it may or may not drift completely into romance, but there will most positively be some implied RusCan(Or CanRus, only time will tell...) near the end. Probably, there will be some unhealthy affections and things of that sort. Though I didn't start with that in mind, I do ship them rather a lot.

Also, Reviews still make my day. Just sayin'.

~Ali.


	9. Nine

Ivan looked down at him, and extended a hand towards the still-seated Matthew.

"Well?"

Matthew looked at his blood soaked hand, Ivan, his nasty, gory hand, and finally settled on Ivan again. It was obvious that he was concerned about getting blood on Ivan's gloves, which was both ridiculous and endearing, given the situation.

"It is not polite to ignore a friendly hand."

Those words were enough to convince him to reach forward, though it was much too slow for Ivan's tastes. Quickly, he snatched up the gruesome hand before him, and practically lifted the attacker to his feet. His legs were still numb from the cold, and he supported himself the best he could, using Ivan's shoulder only as much as necessary.

"See now? You are not so little after all, little Matyuw."

He was right, of course. Though he was still smaller than Ivan, it wasn't by much.

Matthew wanted to correct him, to point of the blatant mispronunciation of his name, but decided to let it go, there were more important things to be worrying about. Other thoughts, important thoughts, all came rushing through Matthew's mind, all at once. He tried to speak them all, to let them all go, but Ivan's eyes told him that he needed silence, and so he let it be.

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><p>After a trip to google, I found that the Russian pronunciation of Matthew is "Met'yu".<p>

I'm sorry that some of you don't like the super-short sections instead of legitimate chapters, but it's a formatting choice that gives the choppy, lightly chaotic feel that I'm going for.

Again, my apologies,

~Ali.


	10. Ten

The pause gave Matthew a moment of thought, and the paranoia that had been living somewhere in the folds of his thoughts finally reared its ugly head. Here he was, practically being held by Ivan, who was known for his less than perfect stability. That couldn't possibly be a good thing, not at all. He could be hurt, Ivan could do something horrible that could just shatter the bits and pieces that Matthew had quickly mended already. It wouldn't take much effort on Ivan's part, it would be easy for him.

Matthew didn't realize it, but when these thoughts began winding their way through his mind he froze. Every movement came to a complete stop, though it only lasted for a moment. Quickly, almost to quickly, a small, shuddering turn took it's place. Slowly, slowly, slowly, he turned to meet Ivan's eyes. He'd never noticed, but they were a peculiar, dark purple, almost violet. They were fascinating, filled with the glimmers of childhood joy and the deadly calm gazes of a jury about to pass judgment. Somehow, even through all that, the eyes that met his held no hatred or fear, just decisions to be made. It wasn't normal. No one, not a single creature on this planet, should be able to give that look to a blood-soaked murderer. It was too calm, almost affectionate. It wasn't right.

And yet, no matter how wrong it was, it made Matthew feel at peace, if only for a second.

It just wasn't right.

* * *

><p>So, here's the deal. I started this when my grandma was put in the hospital, and hadn't updated at all since she passed away.<p>

So, I'm finally in a suitable enough mood to work on this again.

My apologies for the (very long and unplanned) break.

~Ali.


	11. Eleven

That quick moment of peace was shattered when Ivan made a move towards leaving the swirling, curling center that Matthew had been inhabiting. It was only a gentle tug at the edge of his sleeve, barely even that, but he knew exactly what would happen. He couldn't leave. He'd started this painting, created only with the truest essence of another, and he wasn't willing to leave it behind. Not like this. He ripped his arm from the other's hold, and backed down the little white path, back into the full protection of his wall.

Behind him, the battered corpse rested, already fading under a light dusting of snow.

Before him waited a giant, one who would either crush him like a young bird in the teeth of a cat, or or keep him close.

Decisions needed to be made, and that would take time.

Time was something he didn't have.

The man ahead was impatient.

The Deceased could wait forever.

it was too difficult for someone in such a fragile state to make.

Matthew backed as far as he could into the safety of his wall, and shielded his face with his hands.

He couldn't look into those eyes just yet. They would influence him, make him choose the side both knew was better.

Even so, he didn't want that.

This was his choice, and no one else's.

* * *

><p>do you guys think it sounds different, after that very, very long silence from me? I feel like I've improved, but I can't see it...<p>

~Ali.


	12. Twelve

There was a stop.

Everything, it seemed, froze in the winter's wind. Only for a beat, the world was quiet and calm and no one wad hurt and Matthew was Matthew and it was right.

Ivan stepped back, Matthew could her him shuffling in the snow. He may have been leaving, he may have been trying to recover the feeling in his feet or scraping the snow from his boot or something, anything. For just that one, chilled moment, nothing like that mattered.

Matthew was Mathew. It didn't matter whose blood was staining his rolled cuffs, or who was spread out behind him, marking the perfect white snow that strange shade of red.

The shuffling continued.

It didn't matter.

Whatever it was, it didn't matter.

The moment passed, and he finally looked up.

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><p>The fluctuations in Matthew's mood is reflecting the Orchestral stuff that gets played on my Pandora channel for symphonies.<p>

~Ali.


End file.
